


night blooming

by baechuzz



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Enemies to Lovers, Flirty Na Jaemin, Idiots in Love, Kidnapping, Lovers to Enemies to Lovers Again, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Police, Private Investigators, con artist na jaemin, private investigator lee jeno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29002857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baechuzz/pseuds/baechuzz
Summary: Amidst the odd disappearances plaguing New York City, Jeno Lee is hired to find Jisung, the son of the wealthy Park family. But what seemed like an easy case, soon turned out to be almost impossible to solve — no leads, no traces. Jeno is pushed into the corner to accept his ex-lover, Jaemin's help to find Jisung Park and bring an end to the disappearances.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: Kingdom Come Round One





	night blooming

“Come on,” Jaemin yelled. “Don’t fucking give up on me now!”

Jeno coughed, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He smiled and reached up to cup Jaemin's face in his hand, his thumb running to smear the few stray teardrops that stubbornly rolled down on his cheeks. The pain pulsed through him, and he felt the cold of the snow seeping inside him, a sharp knife of chill to his bones. He shivered, the warm blood spreading on his chest rapidly growing cool. He felt himself slipping away, his periphery narrowing and Jaemin became blurry. 

“This was fun,” Jeno croaked, a smile pulling on his lips. He sounded exhausted, even for his own ears. “But you should go now.”

“Fun? You’re so stupid.” A sob mixed laughter bucked out of Jaemin’s lips, reverberating through the silent alley. His fingers worked quickly, but they trembled with distress as he opened Jeno’s shirt to see the bullet wound. He winced but tried to hide it, not to cause panic – he took off his coat to press the cloth to the wound and stop the bleeding. “And I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Jeno said between shallow, painful breaths. 

Jaemin choked on a wet-sounding giggle. “You’re fucking stupid.”

“ _That_ —” Jeno mumbled, his eyelids feeling heavy, and he felt himself slip away. “I knew. You did too. Now go.”

“I won’t go,” he said stubbornly, pressing the coat to the wound tighter but Jeno knew this was a useless attempt. Jaemin avoided looking at Jeno’s face, not ready to see his pale face and glassy eyes. “I will stay with you and bring you home, and you’ll be _fine_.”

Jeno didn’t have regrets — maybe only one. The pale yellow light of the streetlamps was not enough to see Jaemin, however he tried to fend the growing darkness off.

“Then my actions were meaningless,” Jeno sighed. He slowly closed his eyes, his energy rapidly draining. He wanted to urge Jaemin to run, seek a safe place and forget about the investigation forever, to go back to his previous life of hiding in the shadows. But he was too tired, and time was ticking away mercilessly. He still had something to tell Jaemin before he ran out of time. “I’m sorry for—"

“No, shut up,” Jaemin spat. “I don’t want to hear it now. I want to hear it when you’re not on the brink of death anymore.”

The darkness in his mind was closing in on him, and he let himself float into the endless oblivion. His pain was subduing gradually, but he focused all the remnants of his energy to hold onto Jaemin’s cold, shaking hand, sticky with his own blood. 

“Please be safe.”

All Jeno heard was a sharp gasp from Jaemin and the cock of a gun being clicked in place before the darkness completely fogged his mind.

***

Jeno looked up from the black and white photograph of a young boy — an awkward set of shoulders, gangly limbs and the promise of a handsome man lingering on his features — to the man in front of him. Mr. Park nervously wrung the handkerchief in his hands and peeked at the investigator. Immediately, as their eyes met, Mr. Park dabbed at his eyes to dry the non-existent teardrops. 

“Please Private Investigator Lee,” Mr. Park’s voice cracked piteously. “Help me find my son.”

Everything Mr. Park did so far was feigned and utterly transparent. He was not a worried parent, and neither was the woman sitting beside him. The young man in the picture resembled his mother more, but while he had still a mischievous glint in his eyes, full of life. His mother sat straight-backed and silent like a sculpture in the dingy little room Jeno generously called an office. She didn’t pose her motherly concern like her husband did. 

When she addressed Jeno, her words were polite and measured.

“Private Investigator Lee, our son has disappeared,” she said in a low, drawling voice. Her eyes slid over to her husband, distaste radiating from the tight set of her jaw. “And we have no one else to turn to.”

Jeno stifled the unamused expression that teetered to bloom on his face. That was not the case. Jeno, alone, knew at least five more well-known and prestigious private investigators in the neighborhood.

“No one else? What happened to the police department, New York’s finest?”

Jeno wasn’t fond of police detectives. There was a reason behind why he gave up on being one and decided to work alone — there was too much hush-hush going on, too much corruption. But the wording still caught his attention. A wealthy magnate like Mr. Park, whose every fiber was too noble to sit at Jeno’s small, crowded and definitely smelly office, would be better off with the help of the police. 

Jeno used to deal with petty cases — marital problems, paranoid business partners, etcetera. How they had decided to turn to Jeno instead, was a mystery alone.

“The police…” Mrs. Park began, spitting the words. She carefully pushed her shortly trimmed curls under the cloche hat, so she had something to do with her gloved fingers. Her nervousness was well-hidden, but Jeno was trained to notice it. “The detectives assumed that he ran away and called it a day.”

“And he did not run away?” Jeno asked back. He put the photograph down, taking out a notebook to scribble down the carelessly dropped details of the disappearance. Being in an emotional state, _pushing_ her into an unstable state where her perfect act was no longer present seemed the easiest way to wriggle information out of the pair – which they seemed to want to withhold. 

He saw the complete outrage rise on her face. “Of course not.”

“Why did they think so, then?” He pushed. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Mr. Park squirming, and Jeno thought he was digging in the right place. 

"Jisung, he disappeared from our home after a dinner party we held last Friday. We have waited for him to return as it had happened a few times already — he does not like these parties very much. But he just — disappeared.” Mrs. Park’s eyes stopped on her son's face, something like a motherly scowl taking over her features. That was the first time since they’d settled down in Jeno’s office that she had some resemblance of concern in her eyes.

Jeno looked at the calendar. It happened exactly a week ago. 

The Parks held notoriously big parties for the elite. Jeno remembered, having to look away from the shamelessly flowing liquor in the time of the prohibition when smaller people got thrown into jail for less. Only the crème de la crème of New York was invited to these parties — business dressed up as glittering sequin and live-music. He held back the distaste toward the Parks in pure professionalism, but it still tasted bitter on his tongue. 

Jeno imagined Jisung Park, barely reaching the end of his formidable teenage years, forced to attend these parties, so instead of meddling with the sons and daughters of the Société, he kept disappearing for these nights. A boy, living in a safe bubble, the privileged created for themselves, wandering on the streets of New York, ignorant to the hazard he had brought on himself just by wearing one of those fine suits. Jeno’s mind was reeling with possibilities — hate crime against the Parks, kidnapping for a handsome ransom, or Jisung had been fed up with his parents’ ridiculous lavish lifestyle, so he decided that leaving was his only choice.

Jeno looked down at the photograph once again, something in the back of his mind working and piecing previously possessed information together. 

“Tell me more about that night,” he said finally.

“I checked on him before the dinner party started. He was already in bed, reading. When I checked again, after the last guests went home, he wasn’t there anymore. But as I’ve mentioned before, that’s not an odd thing. He tends to sneak out during the parties to meet his friends, but he always leaves a note.” Mr. Park rummaged through his inside pocket and pulled out a bundle of small, handwritten notes. He handed them to Jeno, who ran through them — all had the same scrawny handwriting, a quick notification about his whereabouts. Swift and impersonal.

“He usually comes back in the afternoon each time. We’ve waited for him, but he hasn’t appeared yet.” Mr. Park continued, dabbing at his dry eyes. “When it dawned on us that he won’t come back, we called the police. They said there was no trace of external intrusion, nor evidence of a struggle. He slipped out on his own.”

Jeno pursed his lips. While the police might be right – rich kids wanting to see the world instead of being caged in their mansions were not unheard of – it was a lazy move from them to wave the Parks off like that. Kidnapping could’ve happened during his outing; it wasn’t necessarily a disappearance from his own home. But all lead to one problem: he needed evidence.

“Is there something that would suggest he was kidnapped?” he asked, a dismissing tone bleeding into his voice. 

“You don’t believe us,” Mrs. Park said coolly. “But Jisung is not the type to just _disappear_. He’s a good boy; he wouldn’t go away without a word. And he always goes to meet his friend, the son of the Zhong family, but they haven’t seen him either.”

“We know how this looks like Mr. Lee.” Mr. Park leaned over the table. His act was forgotten; his face reflected business now. “But we can assure you Jisung wouldn't leave on his own."

"Why not?" 

Jeno saw something dark flashing through the man’s eyes. "We have something that he treasures over anything."

"And what is that?" 

Mr. Park shook his head, sinking back in his chair. " _That_ is not important for you, Mr. Lee. What's important is that you find our son." He stalled for a moment, exchanging a glance with his wife. When his gaze met Jeno's, there was something definite in his eyes. "The price does not matter." 

Jeno let out a small whistle. Now that was _something_. If Jisung just took off on his own – that was an easy job. If he did not – Jeno would face the obstacles when they arose. He took off his hat, running his fingers through his flattened hair. With a bright smile that seemed to daze the Parks, he reached out his hand and Mr. Park reluctantly accepted it.

“That means you’ll take the case?” Mrs. Park asked, eyes rounding with surprise at the easy acceptance.

“That means—” Jeno began, leaving a dramatic pause for a bit. “I’ll _find_ your son, Ma’am.”

***

Jeno might have been a bit temporarily blinded by the unset price offered to him, and he might as well have been promising things that seemed almost foolish now that he looked back at yesterday’s events. Now, walking through the Park Mansion — it was ridiculous, being allowed into a mansion on the Upper East Side — strolling through the lush living space of the wealthy not only made him squeezy but regretted ever accepting the case.

Because there was nothing. No leads, no traces of anything. The disappearance happened a week ago, and the house was scrubbed squeaky clean after the party. The Parks left him with a housekeeper who breathed down on his neck every time he touched something, and he caught her cleaning his fingerprints off of different surfaces. The attendance list of the party was kept short. It suggested to Jeno that the Parks were not entirely truthful about neither the nature of the party nor the number and the guests. Mrs. Choi, the housekeeper, was also unwilling to contradict her employers. 

“This is useless,” Jeno sighed. He turned to the woman who pretended to dust off a sculpture but followed him throughout his search. “I want to inspect Jisung’s room.”

“But that’s in the East Wing,” the woman sputtered, her cheeks growing pink. “You’re not allowed in the East Wing.”

“What’s in there?”

“The living quarters.”

Jeno blinked for a moment, confused. He thought he had already gone through the bedrooms. Were they only guest rooms? 

“How am I supposed to investigate if I’m not allowed into the bedroom?” he grumbled. The woman eyed him suspiciously, not saying anything. “I’ll only go into Jisung’s room. It’s a promise.” 

“You’re not allowed there Mr. Lee. The living quarters are off-limit to — _hm_ , — guests,” she said, and the sharpness of her tone indicated wanting to be let go of the topic. She was a middle-aged woman, with a pair of heavy-set eyes that promised him trouble if he went against her rules.

“But since I’m not a guest,” Jeno said and tipped his hat. He began, with long steps, striding toward the East Wing. The housekeeper ran after him and grabbed his arm to stop him, stammering to get him to change his mind.

Jeno sighed and, with a smile he knew would work like a wonder, he patted her labor-wrinkled hands reassuringly. “Ma’am. My task is to find the young master, and I cannot do that if I don't find any leads. He was last seen in his room, and my biggest chance is to find a trace, or evidence is _there_. Please let me do my work, and you can tell your employers that I invaded their space on my own volition even though you tried to stop me.”

Mrs. Choi thought for a moment, weighing her options and then finally, she let go of Jeno’s arm. 

“Then be my guest, Mr. Lee,” she said, straightening her back and holding her chin high. "But I've told you, Mr. and Mrs. Park would not like this."

“Thank you.”

Jeno turned away from her to climb the stairs. Finally, he could look around Park Jisung’s room. Excitement brewed in the pit of his stomach at the possibility of getting out of this deal rich. For a moment, he felt wrong for not thinking of finding Jisung his top priority — but looking at his parents, he was better off somewhere else.

“But Mr. Lee,” Mrs. Choi called after him. Jeno begrudgingly turned back but what he saw was hope in the tired set of eyes that made his heart clench. “Please find the young master.”

“I will.”

 _Another careless promise_ , Jeno scolded himself as he gazed around the perfectly organized room. Nothing was out of place. Not even a stray speck of dust sat on the oak bookcases, nor a paper laid misplaced on the table. Probably no one expected in the household that the young master of the mansion would not return from his nightly outing – and everything happened as usual after a Friday night dinner party. Everything, except Jisung Park had never reappeared.

He heard Mrs. Choi creep up behind him, and he asked, “Has anyone been here after the disappearance?”

“Only me and the Madam,” she answered, voice strangled. “But we left everything untouched."

"Untouched?" Jeno asked back, sceptical. He looked at the artificial orderliness of the room, too perfect to have someone living in it.

The housekeeper blushed, her hands wringing the material of her skirt. 

"I might have been dusting here and there," she admitted, staring down at her shoes. "Only in case, the young master showed up." 

Jeno pursed his lips into a thin line. Mrs. Choi seemed to be afraid of the Parks but regarded Jisung highly. Her eyes raked the room slowly, the corner of her lips quivering — Jeno wouldn't tag the woman to be easily emotional or overly sensitive, not with her steeled gaze and sure voice. But her glance over the photograph of the family of three was tender, almost motherly. A mother instead of a mother.

Jeno wandered around the room, his eyes looking for any misplaced thing that would help his investigation. He opened drawers, fishing for hidden parts or leads aiding him in starting to piece together the bigger picture. Mrs. Choi critically followed him and adjusted everything he touched, placing them back to their previous place. It annoyed him, but he bit into his tongue to stop himself from voicing it out. 

Jeno squatted down beside the bed and peeked under it, not hoping for anything. His eyes stalled on a silver signet ring lying on the floor. He took it into his hand — a simple silver band with a midnight blue stone. 

“What’s this?” Jeno held the ring up to the housekeeper to see. She narrowed her eyes, then widened with recognition.

“That is the young master’s ring!” Mrs. Choi exclaimed. “What is it doing here?”

Jeno pulled an eyebrow up in question. She held her palm out, and Jeno reluctantly dropped the signet ring into her hand. 

“He never leaves without it. He never said where he got it, but the young master has been taking great care of it,” she explained, her thumb caressing the cold silver. Her eyes flew to Jeno in an alert state. “Could it be evidence of someone taking him without his consent?”

Jeno wondered about that too. But on the other hand, the police were right about having no traces that showed intrusion into the room. The locks were intact; the windows opened only from the inside. Not like he would know for sure; all possible evidence had been cleaned and put away by overenthusiastic hands. 

Jeno pulled his mouth aside. It was a good start, but only a shallow promise of a larger thing. 

“Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s – _something_.” 

Mrs. Choi gave the silver band back to Jeno, her disappointment hidden well. He slipped it into his pocket, for later examination and he was surprised she didn’t raise an argument against him taking the ring away. When Jeno glanced back at her, at her solemn expression and tightly pursed lips, he felt for the woman who so visibly held Jisung Park close to her heart.

“Have you been working for the Park family for long, Mrs. Choi?” Jeno asked, to fill the silence. The question let her focus on answering rather than watching him.

Mrs. Choi proudly puffed her chest out. “I’ve been working here since the young master was only a baby. I was tasked to oversee his development until he was big enough not to need me. Then I was promoted as a housekeeper.”

That explained a lot of things. Her motherly status, her love for Jisung, her truly ringing concern for him. 

Jeno tore his gaze away from her, too preoccupied with the task in hand. On the bookshelves were heavy, leather-bounded Greek and Latin classics and one single nameless book. He took it off the shelf and flipped it open. 

_Jackpot_.

Inside the book, the pages were carved out and glued together. From the outside nothing special was visible, but inside the book hid a thick stash of envelopes. The surprise on Mrs. Choi's face betrayed Jisung had kept it hidden well.

"Have you heard anyone named _Nana_?" Jeno asked, skipping through hundreds of pages of letters. All of them came from the same person — same handwriting, same signature, a dried flower stuck to the envelopes. Hungry for any information, he skimmed through a few short messages. 

"I do not know anyone of that name," Mrs. Choi said slowly. Jeno saw a small flash of frustration in her eyes, but she quickly buried it away. She took one envelope and ran her finger on the soft petals of the flower, her face creasing into a frown. "Night phlox."

"Is there something wrong with the flower?" Jeno held one dried flower up to the sunlight pouring through the windows. It was a small thing, its dried white petals yellowing around the edges. Still, when Jeno leaned closer, the scent of vanilla and honey filled his nose. 

“No, it’s just—” she muttered, taking the flower from Jeno’s hand. “Say, Detective Lee, do you know anything about flowers and their meanings?”

Not looking up from a letter, he answered, “I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Night phlox symbolizes an agreement of a sort,” she explained, squinting at the flower. He saw the thoughts forming in her, distaste slowly seeping into her faux calm attitude. But she didn’t let on more and Jeno doubted she would even if he asked. Mrs. Choi composed herself, looking up at Jeno with slow-burning anger in her eyes. “I would suggest if you don’t mind Mr. Lee, to find the writer of the letters. They might know more than us.”

The nature of the letters and Mrs. Choi’s poorly hidden revulsion were in clear contrast – the letters were short but caring, yet her wrinkled face hardening as she read them over his shoulder. Maybe she _did_ know this _Nana_ person.

 _An agreement._ So many questions arose with these two words – what kind of arrangement was this? Did this have a direct link with his vanishing? Might a breach of the agreement from Jisung’s side cause his disappearance? Or was it all part of the alliance? 

Mrs. Choi tapped the letter in his hand twice, exactly where the date read.

“It is Friday today,” she said, voice demanding. Then she stepped back, “Good luck Mr. Lee. I believe you’ll find your way out.”

***

Jeno checked the address on the letter once again. Suspicion began to rise in him as he was nearing the harbor. The ships rocked on the tender waves of the Hudson River; the night was cold but silent. Would Jisung Park, a young elite born and raised in the suburbs, would _he_ willingly come here on his own? Even if so to meet this so-called _Nana_ , it was quite a dangerous trip to make. Jeno would have liked to come sooner, to look around during the daylight, in case anything turned up, but the cab driver took the longer route, and he watched from the windows of the car as the sun slowly dipped behind the rows of high buildings. He doubted he could find anything in the pale moonlight, but he had already paid the fare here, he wasn't going to waste it.

Jeno drew his overcoat tighter around his body, the wind chilling him to the bones. He slightly wished he accepted the newly returning Parks invitation for dinner, now, that the gusts of wind reddened his cheeks and bare knuckles. A once in a lifetime opportunity to dine with the finest of New York, and enjoy the warmth of their home on their own volition. But duty called. And Mrs. Choi’s eyes flashed at him dangerously when he opened his mouth in acceptance.

The letter crumpled under his shaking hands until he saw it better, and thrust the envelope in his pocket. He will apologize to Jisung later. But he had to find him for that first.

For a city that never sleeps, the harbor was quiet. He saw a few people down the docks, unloading a ship -- but other than their grunts and yells, the place was deserted. The streetlamps lightened with a yellow tint, but it wasn't enough for Jeno to search for any evidence. This was probably the goal — to find a time and space when Jisung went unnoticed meeting the mysterious person, so the nature of these secret encounters could remain hidden. New York Harbor brought many types of people — Jisung could blend in, almost invisible.

He was almost there. He supposed he could come back another day. But he couldn't keep the small notes out of his mind. All the letters called for a meeting on Fridays, time and place nearby. The last letter he found was from last week, the Friday of Jisung Park's disappearance. He didn't have any expectations and delusions of meeting the writer of the letters, not when they hadn't sent a reminder of a rendezvous for tonight. He settled on looking around, asking the workers down the harbor if, in any chance, they saw anything last Friday, then turning around and going home. He could say he tried, at the least.

Just when he finally settled on a plan, his eyes caught a person standing under one of the streetlamps. Jeno was sure the person wasn't there just a moment before. He squinted as he walked closer, trying to make out the figure under the light. He couldn't see anything but a shadow — the stranger's face was obscured by a hat and heavy shadows, morphing their features into one as well. At the nearing footsteps, they moved slightly, slipping away from under the light.

Oh well.

The stranger moved quickly with highly alarming stealth because, as Jeno's tired eyes searched the place, he saw nothing but the glittering Hudson. Like a ghost emerging and fading, the ground swallowed them. For a moment, he wondered if it was only a trick of his mind, of wanting to see something so desperately that his eyes provided him with a false picture.

He was about to give in to this thought when he heard something rustle behind him. He didn't look back, not wanting to scare the stranger away. He wanted them to come closer, to see them. The possibility of them being a simple pickpocket was higher than them being _Nana_ , but he was about to risk it. Jeno braced himself and walked on, tucking his hands into his pockets, not afraid for his belongings. If the person turned out to want to rob him, they were too late for that — the cab driver already got away with most of his money. 

He strolled back to the streets where other people lingered, all rushing home from work, briefcases squeezed close to their chests, distrust reflecting back from their eyes. He could feel the frustration and the anticipation pouring from the person behind him as they became more careless by each passing second. They slowly inched closer, footsteps falling loudly against the concrete, making presence known. Jeno took a sharp turn into a small alleyway, and when he was certain that the stranger was an arm’s length away, he spun around and tossed them to the brick wall. The stranger's body knocked against the surface with a loud thud, and they let out a low grunt of pain.

“Who are you? And why are you following me?” Jeno hissed, his hands gripping tight around the other's shoulders. 

Jeno's eyes ran on the figure in front of him. It was a young man, a similar height and built as Jeno himself. His head hung low, his hat covering most of his face. Only a scythe of a smile peeked out, sharp and dangerous.

“I do not know what you are talking about,” the man said with a stubborn set of his jaw, trying to sneak out of Jeno's hold. Under Jeno's fingertips, muscles strained and relaxed, a beast hiding in the depths of the slim body.

“Who are you?” Jeno pressed him to the wall with more frenzy. The man let himself be pushed around like a ragdoll, no resistance coming from him. Jeno's stomach churned guilty if it wasn't that this person just tried to sneak up on him just a moment ago. Without him apprehending, suddenly a hand circled his wrist.

“Jeno Lee.” The lilt in his voice was eerily familiar. His own name coming from the stranger's smiling mouth shocked Jeno. “I’m wounded that you managed to forget me so quickly.”

In the moment of confusion, the stranger slipped out of Jeno’s grasp and turned them over, with surprising strength. Jeno’s back hit the brick wall with a force that knocked the air out of his lungs. Suddenly, something silver reflected in the pale moonlight, and the tip of a knife was pressed under his chin, dangerously digging into the soft skin. Jeno tried to move, but the more he fidgeted, the more tightly the blade pushed into his skin. He gulped.

“How is private investigating life going, Officer Lee?” the stranger asked, conversationally. The thin lips of the man widened into a stinging smile, sharper than the blade pressed to his throat, more threatening. “I was missing you. The other pigs don't know how to treat me as well as you did.”

“Jaemin Na! You—” Jeno jeered, wanted to push ahead but the blade cut into his skin like a knife into butter. Not until the warm blood trickling down on his neck did Jeno come to his senses. 

Jaemin took off his hat and let it fall on the dirty ground. He was just as Jeno remembered — hauntingly handsome, with a smirk permanently etched to his face. The slick bastard who plagued Jeno's thoughts for so long — and when he thought the remedy arrived with his letter of resignation, he turned up here like a personified nightmare, beautiful and wicked.

“See? You do remember. How nice,” he purred, patting Jeno's cheek gently. “What a friendly reunion.”

“What do you want, Na?” Jeno spat the words. His fist clenched and unclenched, waiting for a brief slip of attention, a weakening in the press of the knife and he was ready to swing a punch to this jerk's pretty face. “I thought you were rotting away in a cell.”

“Now, don't be so grumpy. I've already told you I missed you too.” Jaemin snickered and leaned closer to Jeno. Their noses almost touched as he neared, his gaze flickering from Jeno's eyes, down to his lips. A smile stretched on his own when Jeno snapped his teeth at him, in a desperate attempt to hurt him. “They found me innocent if you're curious. I hope it's not a shock to you that not everything I do is my wrongdoing. I was, for once, the victim. But let's not hang up on small deeds.

"I know you're investigating Jisung Park's disappearance."

Jeno tried to hide his surprise and snorted. “You have no business with what I do.”

“Oh, Jeno Lee. You're still as obvious as ever. It's almost sweet.” He pulled up an eyebrow, and his expression pinned Jeno to the wall. “Why do you think you got the case? Why do you think one of the wealthiest families in New York City went out of their way to find your joke of a business and hire you to find their _only_ son? Are you really that naive that you think a once in a lifetime opportunity falls into your hands by mere chance?”

 _Yes,_ was perched on the tip of Jeno's tongue. He worked for it — he had made himself a name on his own when the system failed in stepping up against the wealthy. He delivered solved mysteries to the police, tying their hands for an immediate response. But the look Jaemin was giving him told otherwise. His venomous words were spreading in his veins hot and angry.

“It wasn't hard, though,” Jaemin continued, brushing the hair out of Jeno's eyes, tilting his head to take him in fully. “The Parks didn't need much coercion. A few street whispers of the pigs looking for secret alcohol stashes in the area and Mr. Park immediately thought better of looking for their help. So, you might as well thank me for getting you this gig.”

“ _Screw you_.”

Jaemin blinked at him with wide eyes, his long lashes painting pretty shadows against his cheekbones. He shook his head, running the knuckles of his index finger on Jeno’s face like he was fragile. “Jeno, _Jeno_. Are you still hung up on the past? Once again, I am sorry for—”

"Stop," Jeno said abruptly. He didn't want to hear, he didn't want to be the bigger person — not when they were in this dirty alley, not when Jaemin was a wrist flick away from killing him, maybe not ever. Perhaps something similar to hurt passed over Jaemin's expression but it disappeared sooner than Jeno could read it. “You deceived me. There's nothing to talk about.”

“Very well,” he responded coolly. He straightened his back and raised his chin. “As you wish.”

Jeno struggled once again but the fighting spirit deflated in his chest. Jaemin Na wasn't the person who was easy to get rid of, and Jeno had to accept that he was under his thumb right now. If he wanted, Jaemin could kill him in this instant — but it seemed like there was something he needed from Jeno before that happened.

“What do you want from me? What do you want from the Park family?”

Jaemin held up one hand before he slowly slipped it into Jeno's pocket, taking the letter out and holding it between two of his fingers. Jeno intuitively wanted to reach out for it and grab it from Jaemin’s nimble fingers, but the pressing on his throat sent a sharp ting of pain through his body. Jaemin just shook his head, clicking his tongue. 

“It's hard to admit, but you're a good detective, Jeno Lee,” he began, holding up the crumpled envelope for him to see. “I knew you'd find these. And with them, find _me_.”

As suddenly as it appeared, the knife evaporated. Jeno reached up with shaking fingers to rub away the blood from the small cut, finally breathing freely again. Without saying anything, Jaemin stepped away from him, a safe distance for both parties. 

Jaemin was letting him go and giving him a chance to run for it. He thought about it – getting rid of Jaemin Na should be his top priority, for his own well-being. But Jisung Park came before anyone right now, and Jaemin must have a reason for arranging this meeting. So, when Jeno stood, his fingertips trembling and his gaze furiously moving up and down on Jaemin's tense form, Jaemin sighed. He tucked his trusty knife into one hidden pocket of many.

Jeno held up his arms in surrender. “What do you want?”

Jaemin, for a moment, seemed unsure what to say. With a sigh, he began, "Jisung Park – he's someone... _precious_ to me. You've seen by our correspondence; you must've got the gist of it." Jaemin bit his bottom lip and shifted from one leg to another. Jeno watched it, watched the odd hesitation spread in Jaemin like every word was hard for him to say out loud. This didn't suit him — he always knew what he wanted. “His disappearance hit me hard, and I – I offer my help to find him.”

For a moment, Jeno just opened and closed his mouth, unable to say anything.

“Is this a joke?” Jeno sputtered, a crease forming between his brows. “Are you trying to fool me again?”

Something hard flashed through Jaemin's eyes, masking his hesitance with a sharp edge. Jeno didn't want to read into it, he didn't want to feel for him because he knew Jaemin too well for that and vice versa. He was a great actor and a marvellous liar, and Jeno fell for his act one time too many. This wasn’t to happen again. Jaemin could make a fool of him once. But a long time passed since then, and Jeno’s anger was still red-hot and surging deep inside his veins. 

“I wanted the Parks to hire you because I seriously think you can find Jisung — because, after all, you of all people got me into jail and that’s not a small feat. And you can also gain from the truce. I know Jisung. He confided in me and trusted me – I know how his brain works.” Jaemin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pushing the words through gritted teeth. “I am willing to put aside any disagreement with you just so we can find him.”

“ _You_ are willing, huh?”

A pathological liar like Jaemin Na would only hinder the process, delaying finding Jisung when the time was an important matter right now. Standing there, he was already wasting precious seconds with the person he loathed the most. It was an odd turn of events, Jeno mused as he stared at Jaemin and he stared back, how he was also the person he used to love. Not anymore, though. Not after everything.

Jeno rubbed his eye, a wave of exhaustion hitting him. His shoulders sagged -- he was not a spiteful person, and it tired him out. “What are you getting out of this? I don't need you to lie.”

“I get Jisung back. That's all I want.”

“How do I know it's not just you playing some sick games? That it was not _you_ who kidnapped Jisung Park?" Jeno asked, just to be difficult. While Jaemin was the type who would do crime and then show up just to rub salt on your wound – he was not stupid. 

"Luring him out of his safety bubble with years spent trying to butter him up? You know that's not how I work, Jeno Lee. And you've read the letters. I know."

Jeno didn't read all of the letters. He'd skimmed through a few, concluding they must contain the same – a familiar tone, telling and nagging Jisung to eat, sleep and spend time with his friends. Closing off with a reminder of the usual time and place of their meetings. Jeno had only found one stack of letters, dating back to a few months but he knew there were probably more hidden away in the room. When he put the envelopes back into their place, he thought that Jisung Park, who grew up all alone in that mansion with parents who barely cared, deserved a person who looked out for him.

Oh, how wrong he was. No one ever deserved the nightmare that was Jaemin Na.

"You know I wouldn't ask your help if I had any other way." Jaemin's words came out rushing like he wanted to get rid of them, misunderstanding Jeno's silence. It surprised Jeno. All he ever encountered was cutting words and sweet, delirious lies – but _this_ , this seemed like the fragile truth of a liar. "But the pigs, the police – they are involved in this."

"The night phlox," Jeno said, suddenly startling even himself. "What was the agreement about?"

Jaemin blinked at him, and Jeno watched him for enough times to know when he was weaving new lies. Calmly, he waited for him to finish, anticipating the little story he had to come up with so quickly.

"So you know about it."

"I do."

"An agreement of having each other's back. He's my—" he paused for a second. "Friend. I ought to look after him and do my best to provide him with safety."

What struck Jeno for a moment was how Jaemin seemed to be out of his element now. As there wasn't a blade pressed to his jugular anymore, he had time to really see him for the first time in a while. He'd gotten thinner and brighter, all knife-sharp angles and clean lines, but his cleverly glinting eyes were dimmed with exhaustion. Dark shadows gathered under his eyes, giving him a haunted look.

"So, you know something?" Jeno asked, his voice coming out softer than he intended. The rage bubbling inside him was somewhat subdued, but he couldn’t let that happen – he had to hold onto it with nail and teeth for a clear reminder to never trust Jaemin Na again. It would be easy, slipping back and inducing the mistakes of the past. 

Jaemin's face didn't betray any emotion other than sheer wonder, but his shoulders fell with relief. "I thought you'd need more pestering."

"It's nice to know that I can still surprise you. Now, spill."

Jaemin was about to step closer to him, but Jeno's body reacted on his own – a safe distance set his mind at ease from the dangerous trap Jaemin imposed. Jaemin's steps faltered, then he stopped.

"I believe Jisung’s vanishing can be linked to the other disappearances throughout the city." His voice rang clear. "I suspect you are aware of the disappearance of a bunch of wealthy children. Do you ever wonder why there isn't a bigger scandal or panic revolving around this?" Jaemin slowly slipped his hand into his inner pocket and Jeno's muscles tensed. He pulled out a stack of letters and showed them to Jeno. "This is the correspondence of our precinct's police captain and a concerned father. Do you know what's more precious to these so-called parents over their own blood?"

Jeno cautiously shook his head. Jaemin just raised a brow.

"Their prestige," Jaemin said slowly with a crooked smile. He threw the neatly tied bundle to Jeno. "The police seem to be possessing some kind of sensitive information about the Society. While I condone this kind of activity — I would love to see the wealthy shaking in the corner for once — as a loved one of mine was caught in this act, unfortunately, I have to bring an end to it."

While Jaemin was speaking, Jeno pulled an envelope out of the bundle randomly and opened it.

"How did you get these?"

Jaemin held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. "It's magic."

At Jeno’s unimpressed stare, he just shrugged. "I was in and out the precinct enough to know how things worked there. And the captain really slacked off with the code of his safe."

"If what you're saying is right," Jeno paused, furrowing his eyebrows. Scanning through the letter, he saw the familiar signature — and maybe suspicion had risen in him for Jaemin feigning the letters, but they were too perfect for that. "This is so much bigger than us.”

“You sound like you don’t have faith in us,” Jaemin said with a sigh.

“I don’t have faith in _you_ ,” Jeno shot back.

Jaemin watched him for a few seconds, not saying anything. Jeno hated this, hated his dark eyes roaming his body, and that he felt transparent standing in front of him. Jaemin never showed how much he knew, nor how much he understood. He was unreadable as ever. His lips pulled into a smile, masking other feelings away for safekeeping. 

“I can work around that.” Jaemin nodded. “I expected nothing else.”

Neither of them said anything for minutes. This temporary truce felt fragile. One ill-meaning word could set off Jeno, and their joint forces would wither sooner than it could bloom. Jaemin’s stance and presence betrayed awkwardness, his usual cockiness long forgotten. Jeno made a mental note to figure out the relationship between him and Jisung Park. Someone who sparked inspiration in Jaemin to go lengths like this was not just a simple friend. 

Jaemin cleared his throat. “I _know_ that you don’t agree with my slightly unorthodox measures, but if we want to stay under the radar and not call the attention of the police, you have to at least try to play along with me.” And as an afterthought, he added, “Please.”

Jeno cursed at himself for giving in to Jaemin’s proposition so easily. The ache of the thin wound on his neck dully pulsated, a reminder of how quickly the night changed. But what Jaemin offered was more than enough to accept – insider information. Something that he’d never get from the Parks or those in their inner circle. All he had for the investigation was the stack of letters which led him to Jaemin. 

And Jaemin was all this investigation needed. He built himself from secrets and the whispers of the streets, he twisted his way into success by his quick and merciless thinking. And people _trusted_ him. He gathered information greedily, stacking things away for his own prosperity. But now, he was there, offering all he had to save someone else. 

“Jeno?” Jaemin asked in a soft voice. 

Jeno steeled himself against all the things he used to be soft for. He closed his eyes, and said, “I’ll not stoop down to your level, but I will steer away from bringing any attention to the investigation. But _Jaemin_ ,” he warned, “if you try something, I’ll—” 

Jaemin nodded, waving him off. “I don’t have false expectations just how you see me, but I promise I’ll be good.”

He trusted his hand out – the final nail on the coffin. 

A promise from him meant nothing, yet Jeno found himself accepting his hand in a quick handshake. He quickly pulled back, feeling like his skin was burned raw, and he hid hand behind his back. His body betrayed him around Jaemin wanting his touch and his kiss, wanting to accommodate and forget. But Jeno held onto his sanity tightly – serving Jaemin the punishment he deserved came ahead of everything.

Except now, they worked together for Jisung Park. After that, he could serve his revenge. He just had to wait. 

Jeno gulped down the bitter distaste on his tongue.

When he looked back at Jaemin’s haunted, dark eyes, he didn’t see the enmity of his own reflecting back at him. They glinted back at him with a newfound interest that reminded him of the first time they’d ever met. 

“I know it’s hard for you. You’ve lost more than I did but believe me when I say I've also lost too much. And I regret it every day.” Jaemin broke him out of his reverie, his voice low, blending into the quiet rumbling of the Hudson. “You’re really a good person, Jeno.” 

Jeno fidgeted with the letters in his hands, so he didn’t have to look at him. 

“Stop bringing up the past. You don’t need to lie, I’m already in.” 

"You always think I'm lying."

"Because you are."

With a deep sigh, Jaemin bent down to pick up his hat from the ground. From this distance, he looked almost defenceless, if Jeno hadn't known about the endless pockets hiding weapons on his body. Jaemin fought with his mind, but he did not despise being armed. He wrinkled his nose as he tried to dust off the grime clinging to the material before he stuffed it into his pocket. When he locked eyes with Jeno again, he was rigid.

"You can keep those. I know you want to dissect those apart," he said, motioning toward the letters Jeno was holding. 

"You don't know me," Jeno pushed the words through his gritted teeth. 

"You neither. You still like to make claims about my character." 

Part of him wanted to sag his shoulders and cover from the intensity of his stare, but Jeno bit the inside of his cheeks, bracing himself. "I won't apologize."

"And I don't expect it from you. I just wish we could stay civil long enough to find Jisung." 

He pursed his lips together, admittance was hard on his tongue. "I agree."

"So, Jeno Lee," Jaemin said and sauntered toward the open mouth of the alleyway, hands thrust in his pockets. He took one out to lazily wave at Jeno, his eyes avoiding his form entirely. "This is goodbye for now."

Jeno reached out to catch his shoulder and stop him, but he retreated before he could touch. Angrily showing his hands behind his back once again, he called, "Wait! How are we going to communicate?"

Jaemin peeked over his shoulder, a smile curling on his lips like Jeno asked something funny.

"Don't fret. I'll find you."

***

Jeno rubbed his eyes. Tiredness seeped into him gradually, mind-numbing and heavy. He reached out for his mug of cold, black coffee and knocked back the rest. He’d been sitting at the same desk for hours now, watching as the sun slowly climbed back on the sky, taking back its place – the typewriter in front of him sat untouched, the same lines blearing back at him. As he tried to piece the case together, threads of the story kept slipping out of his hands — the conclusion of the case tickled his palms but never solid enough to catch them.

He knew sleep would probably help. A fresh mind, a small distance from the case would help better than the endless circling of his own mind. But this was his first serious case as a detective – a serial arsonist out of control in New York City – he wanted to prove himself. He wanted his colleagues to see his worth, to have their respect. Jeno was promoted Detective sooner than usual, climbed the ladder quicker – and many of the old names raised their concern. He was too green, too idealistic for the job, they said. 

The case was handed to him just to humble him – to see him crumble with stress or watch another of New York’s old buildings burn. Time was a sensitive matter; the arsonist had a tight schedule, burning on the 13th of every month. He had barely a fortnight left.

“Lee!” Sergeant Qian called. Jeno shot his head up, to meet with his kind eyes. The only one who treated him with respect in the department. The sergeant jerked his finger toward the lone figure leaning to the wall on the other side of the office. “He says he has information about your arsonist.”

“Great!”

Kun’s eyes flickered to the informant and back to Jeno. He stepped closer to his desk, pursed his lips together until his dimples carved deeply in his cheeks. Something akin to a fatherly concern had taken over his features as he planted his hands on Jeno’s desk and leaned in.

“I won’t tell you what to do Detective Lee,” he said and lowered his voice, “But be careful with him.”

He did not elaborate, but he didn’t need to. Jeno nodded, hungry for any scrap of information that would help him solve the case. He knew how these things were — informants didn’t give away their little secrets because of the goodness of their heart. With the downfall of their rivals, they all gain something — territory, money. Or simply their businesses not being eaten alive by a violent fire.

Jeno was a lot of things, but he wouldn’t call himself gullible. So he wasn’t that afraid of being led on by a mere criminal. He smiled up to Kun, humouring his attempt to scare Jeno.

Kun watched his face for a moment longer, then, with a sigh, he pushed himself back and turned to the waiting man.

“Jaemin Na,” Kun called, his loud voice carrying in the almost empty office. “Detective Lee will take your testimony.”

Jaemin perked up, slaughtering toward them. Jeno realized his ragged state when he saw the crisply pressed, white shirt of the informant. He tried to quickly pull his jacket over his coffee-stained shirt, but even his jacket was wrinkled. He gave up on looking presentable. 

Jeno glanced up at the informant as he halted his steps in front of his desk. His poor eyesight did not let him examine Jaemin before he was close enough. He expected someone sketchy, someone with dropped shoulders trying to make themselves invisible — but Jaemin Na stood tall before him, face open and smile glaring.

“Long night, Detective?” Jaemin asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes moved freely on Jeno’s tousled hair, 5 o’clock shadow and the inappropriately popped open few buttons of his shirt. His gaze lingered on his skin longer than necessary, and Jeno felt the heat of it. He tore away from the slip of skin when Jeno bent forward, placing his chin on the back of his hand.

“Terribly.”

“Haven’t seen you around there yet.” Jaemin lowered himself on the seat in front of Jeno and leaned back. He moved like he owned the place; his actions demanded attention and Jeno felt himself being drawn into his orbit. “Are you new?”

“You’re around here a lot, Mr. Na?” Jeno quirked an eyebrow. 

Jaemin opened his arms wide like he didn’t have anything to hide. The scythe of his smile told otherwise.

“I am simply a law-abiding citizen, Detective. I just happen to be at the wrong time and wrong place a lot.” 

Jeno thought Jaemin knew what he was doing. Anticipation sat heavily in his stomach as Jaemin led his gaze on his body. They were minuscule movements, a fingertip running on the edge of his jaw, stilling on his curled lips. An almost shy avoidance of eye-contact, long lashes resting against his high cheekbones — until he sharply glanced up, piercing through Jeno with his gaze.

Jeno cleared his throat and fumbled for a paper to put into the typewriter. He knew now what Kun meant about being careful with him. The intrigue he brought with himself, the confidence that reeked off him made Jeno light-headed and defenceless. He tore himself away, deciding to focus on work.

Kun had nothing to worry about. 

“And what kind of wrong place have you trespassed upon this time?” 

Jaemin thought for a moment, his head tilted as he took Jeno in. Something akin to surprise spread on his features, a look of entertainment accompanying it.

"I'll tell you," Jaemin said slowly. His gaze never leaving Jeno's face, he stood up and thrust his hands into his pocket. His dark eyes sparkled in the sunlight pouring through the windows. "Over a cup of coffee. If you are alright with that, Detective."

Jeno glanced down at his watch. He still had a few hours left before his shift officially began. He craved a hot cup of strong coffee, and his interest picked up with the appearance of Jaemin Na.

Quickly gathering his things, throwing on his jacket and avoiding Kun's concerned glance, he grinned wide and toothy. 

"Sure."


End file.
